


Meet Me in the Woods

by Agapostemon



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Autistic Warden, City Elf Surana, Ethical Dilemmas, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Nonverbal Warden, POV Morrigan (Dragon Age), Post-Dragon Age: Origins - Witch Hunt DLC, Sign Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-12-31 19:02:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21150656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agapostemon/pseuds/Agapostemon
Summary: “I…” Morrigan frowns. How is she supposed to explain that she knows thereasonthe Dalish want their book back but doesn’t understand why it’s soimportant. To him or to the Dalish. She can feel the distant echoes of panic rising in her chest, drowning out all her attempts to come up with words.Ezekiel must sense her frustration, because he meets her eyes and signs, “Take your time.”





	Meet Me in the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> Content Warnings: Spoilers for Origins and the Witch Hunt DLC, references to past emotional abuse
> 
> \---
> 
> Takes place immediately after Witch Hunt. Features my warden, [Ezekiel Surana](https://toyhou.se/171796.zee/5150932.dragon-age), who is in an ambiguously halfway-between-romantic-and-queerplatonic relationship with Morrigan.

“BbbrrrEEP!”

The familiar trill of Ezekiel’s voice prompts Morrigan to lift her head from the book her nose has been buried in since Kieran went to sleep almost three hours ago. She’s missed that sound. It’s surreal to think that less than 24 hours ago, she still believed she’d never hear it again.

She smiles up at him, illuminated in the firelight, “Yes, my love?”

“_When do you plan to return that book to the Dalish clan?_” he signs. It’s not an accusation. She knows that. But it stings a bit, nonetheless.

“I will return it when I am finished with it and no sooner,” she insists, a bit more sharply than she intended.

Ezekiel seems undeterred. “_Have you considered making a copy?_” he suggests.

“This is an urgent matter!” Morrigan defends. “I haven’t the time to transcribe an entire book.”

“_What if I do it?_” he offers, like the bleeding-heart optimist he is. “_I know you’re worried you’ll overlook something, but this book isn’t ours and I know the Dalish are missing it._”

She sighs and rolls her eyes fondly, “I suppose there would be no harm in it so long as it does not interfere with our more critical goals.”

“_Thank you_,” he signs with a smile before sitting down in front of her and affectionately placing a bare foot against her shin, enigmatic as always. “_It means a lot to me._”

She absently reaches down to pat his foot, “I will be honest, I do not understand why this is so important to you. But I am… trying to.”

Ezekiel giggles and enthusiastically snips his hands like crayfish pinchers before signing, “_Do you want me to explain?_”

Morrigan laughs, “Do I have a choice?”

“_Of course you do!_” he signs earnestly. “_I would appreciate it, though._”

“Fair enough,” Morrigan huffs. “Alright then, I suppose ‘tis only fair for me to hear your perspective. Go ahead.” She marks her place and closes the book, then sits up straight to watch her partner expectantly.

“_Thank you,_” he signs again, reaching out to give her knee an appreciative pat before continuing. “_What part do you not understand?_”

“I…” she frowns. How is she supposed to explain that she knows the _reason_ the Dalish want their book back but doesn’t understand why it’s so _important_. To him or to the Dalish. She can feel the distant echoes of panic rising in her chest, drowning out all her attempts to come up with words.

Ezekiel must sense her frustration, because he meets her eyes and signs, “_Take your time._”

It’s hard to remember sometimes that taking her time is… an option, here. At least in some ways. The threat of her mother is always looming on the horizon, but right here and right now? She can take her time. There are no sharp words waiting for her if she speaks too slowly or uncertainly. Here, with Ezekiel, she is allowed to be less than perfect. Less than sure.

So she takes a long, slow breath and pushes away the timer ticking in her head. Soothes down the fear pulsing in her ears. Lets the thoughts flow at their own pace instead of forcing them. Slowly, carefully, she picks her words, “I do not understand how preserving culture and tradition is… more important than preserving safety and lives.”

“_For many people, culture and traditions make life worth living,_” Ezekiel explains.

Morrigan creases her brow, “I… cannot imagine what that must feel like. To feel so connected to a culture that you would risk death for it.”

“_They don’t know what’s at stake,_” he points out. “_Even we don’t know what’s at stake, and they know even less than us._”

“Being unaware of a threat does not simply render them immune to it,” she argues.

“_Yes, but think about it from their perspective,_” Ezekiel challenges gently. “_All they know is that an irreplaceable piece of their culture was taken from them for no apparent reason. They weren’t given context or a choice in the matter._”

“This is a sensitive matter,” Morrigan defends. Fear floods her veins like magma, clouding her judgment. “Are you suggesting we reveal our exact plans to everyone we interact with, virtually guaranteeing my mother’s success?”

“_No,_” he signs. “_I don’t think that at all. I just think we should make a copy of the book and return the original._”

She takes another long, slow breath in an attempt to quash the terror now pounding at her eardrums, but it still lives on as a dull buzzing in her head. She wants to leave the conversation, shut it down with a sarcastic remark and then storm off to stew in the familiar rush of adrenaline.

But Ezekiel did nothing to deserve that. And she _wants_ to understand. She really does. It just doesn’t make _sense_. She feels like a beetle endlessly ramming her tiny, stupid body against a wall.

“_What about you?_” he prompts, apparently sensing that she’s stuck. “_Do you have any pieces of your culture that you couldn’t live without?_”

She lets out a bark of bitter laughter, “What culture?”

“_You’re Chasind, right?_” he signs.

“I suppose, in the most technical sense,” Morrigan huffs. “I was hardly raised as such, though. My mother is not, regardless of what her most recent body may have implied. And she saw to it that I grew up with no culture outside of her own.”

“_What culture was hers?_” he asks.

“Complicated,” she laughs. Because really, what is Flemeth? Is she Ferelden? Elven? Something else entirely, incomprehensible to their mortal minds? Some combination of the above? Morrigan only has the barest grasp on what her mother even _is_, much less what her culture might be.

“_Do you identify with it?_”

“I…” she pauses, “I do not know. I suppose not. ‘Tis not like I can identify with something I can scarcely understand.”

“_Do you want to?_”

“To understand it?” she asks. “Or to identify with it?”

“_Both._”

“Understand? Yes. Desperately. But to identify with my mother’s culture…” she wrinkles her nose, “’Twould leave a bitter taste in my mouth, I think.”

“_Do you ever feel like she took Chasind culture away from you?_”

Well, she hadn’t until he put it like that! But suddenly she’s painfully aware of the aching chasm left by yet another thing her mother ripped away from her before she was even old enough to know it was missing.

Perfect. Just what she needed.

“_It’s okay if you don’t want to answer,_” Ezekiel signs.

“I would… like to, actually,” she responds, her voice soft and cautious. “Give me a moment. ‘Tis… not a subject I had given much thought, previously.”

“_Of course,_” he leans forward to rest his chin on her knees as he waits. She takes it as an invitation to caress her fingers through his messy blonde hair as she thinks.

After a lengthy stretch of silence, she speaks up in a small voice, “’Tis hard to imagine myself losing something that I never thought of myself as having in the first place.”

Ezekiel makes a small chirping sound and nuzzles his cheek against her hand before sitting back up to continue signing. “_I didn’t realize how little I knew about elven culture until we visited the Dalish clan for the first time. It was… sad. But exciting, too! There was so much to learn! That’s why becoming an arcane warrior was so important to me. So a tradition made by people like me – elven mages – wouldn’t die out forever. And why keeping books like this,_” he taps the book beside Morrigan for emphasis, “_with the Dalish is important to me._”

“’Twould seem that the erasure of cultures is all too common in our world,” Morrigan laments.

Ezekiel nods solemnly.

Morrigan sighs, “I still cannot comprehend why anyone would prioritize cultural preservation over survival, but… I do not wish to do to the Dalish what my mother did to me. And I suppose there is no harm in returning the book so long as we record its contents first.”

“_Thank you for trying to understand,_” he signs with a soft smile.

“I fear trying is the best I can offer,” she admits quietly, wringing her hands in her lap.

“_Trying is all I ask,_” he assures, then reaches up to squeeze her hands in his.

“Perhaps you ask too little,” she frets.

He sits up on his knees and reaches up to squeeze her cheeks between his palms, then sits back and signs, “Maybe _I’m asking just the right amount and your brain is asking too much._”

She’s not sure if she believes him, but hearing him say it is so profoundly comforting that she decides to let it be.

**Author's Note:**

> Please remember that I write purely for fun and catharsis. My fics are unbeta’d and minimally proofread. They’re not perfect, and that’s okay. If you notice something I could fix or improve, please keep those thoughts to yourself. If I genuinely want critique, I’ll ask a close friend in private. **Surprise critiques are very stressful and discouraging.** Thanks for understanding!


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